


mala fide (working title, WIP)

by ponninja



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Edging, F/M, Hate Sex, Het, Knifeplay, Light Dom/sub, PWP, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:41:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28427190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponninja/pseuds/ponninja
Summary: !! LOOKING FOR BETA READERS/CRITICS!!THIS IS A WIP FIC (but tell me how im doin so far yk)FIRST SMUT FIC TOO D:(written in Aug 2020, last read and revised Sept 2020, posting now at the end of Dec 2020 at 3am on a whim)---"Do you see something in me? Do you want to become me? Wish you were like me, able to overcome your own personal problems and emerge as something stronger? I didn't need a family, did not need love. I'd always been carnivorous until I met Matt.""That's what separates you from me. I don't have anyone. I don'thavea Matt. Ican'thave anyone. The person I cherish the most is always dangling in front of me like collateral, just beyond my reach."He pressed his lips against her ear, voice husky and grating, "So call me predatory as well, or whatever fits your metaphor, but I justreallywant to tear your throat out right now."
Relationships: Lester | Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter/Elektra Natchios
Kudos: 1





	mala fide (working title, WIP)

**Author's Note:**

> note: i am 17 yo! i know my fair share about shagging and i honestly dont care if youre 18+! just please do not try to trespass boundaries, obviously. i just want a lot of advice on how to write well, even beyond sex/sexual situations. thank you!

a/n: maybe the intro is too wordy?  
Her nails were sharp, painted a dark, brooding red; long, stilettoed to a point, but not too long so as to not prevent her from gripping her sai or forming a fist. She felt the weekend would be uneventful, considering whatever recon missions Fisk had called for were already accomplished, thus leading her to treat herself with a manicure. Unbeknownst to her was a dinner party staged at the last minute, and so she sat there impatiently, waiting, rapping her nails on the table until she had the brilliant idea of daydreaming.

The manicure didn't hinder her from running her fingers up her thighs as Matt had once did, blocking out the noise around them, dissociating from whatever cahoots Fisk was setting them up for. She was out of it, tired, though she didn't show it; her demeanor was collected and casual, in contrast to the man beside her.

a/n: dex desc but maybe it's too wordy  
His face was bitter from the formalities they had to go through whenever a new deal was proposed. Usually let Elektra do the talking, but he was able to spice up a conversation. Dex wasn't one for suit-and-tie events, picking at the starched collar that was far too stiff for his liking. Blondish, brownish hair combed over, usually disheveled and unkempt. His leg shook uncontrollably, causing the white tablecloth draped in front of him to flutter about. He didn't touch any of the food on his plate, sterling utensils still wrapped up in a cloth napkin.

He glanced at Elektra, who was fixated on the half-empty wine glass in her hand, but she seemed far away, in a daze. She was beautiful, quite frankly, her dark hair framing her face, straight. He wondered what it would be like for her to shave it all off, like taking away a lion's mane. Only when he said her name did her hand stop between her legs, hidden by the cloth. Before she could acknowledge him, she was pulled into a conversation. She laughed with their associates over some obscure joke he didn't quite hear. Her lips matched her nails, and she smiled, showing off her bleach-white teeth. To him, she was baring her fangs, and he sneered inwardly at the thought of it; his rival a lowly animal unable to bite.

"Oh of course, I would never let Benjamin near such a thing." She said without context and he looked up as she said his name. She lifted her hand up from underneath the tablecloth, reaching over to touch his hand pointedly. Her hand was warmer than usual, her fingers twitching a bit.

a/n: maybe too wordy?  
On the ride to some rented estate beside the East River, she stared outside, gazing at the blue water, stars blending in with tiny lit windows of the cityscape, reflecting off of the water like gemstones. All he saw was just a blur, a smear of grays and blues, a small, lit circle hanging just above.

a/n: emphasize the gaminess?  
"Dex," She said, breaking the silence. He was amazed; she rarely used his preferred name. "How would you like to play a game with me?"

"A game." He repeated flatly, however casually nodding his head and cracking an amiable smile.

"Yes. Wouldn't you say you're awfully antsy right now?" Her face scrunched up, using her hands to gesture. "Wouldn't you just want to shake off those gentlemanly clothes and run around the city doing god knows what? We could be jumping from rooftop to rooftop, running and running and..." She trailed off. "Maybe we could see him." She looked forlorn for a moment, a sort of sad and longing expression on her face.

"Or perhaps something else..." She lifted her head up, smiling again. "I'm sure there are other ways to get our blood running, both figuratively and literally."

"What do you suggest?" He was intrigued. Sparring, probably. It was always sparring.

"You'll see." Her answer was vague, and he didn't know what he was getting himself into until they reached the house, fit for an Airbnb with its tended yard and willows and wisterias hanging over. The crisp night air bit at their fingertips as he nudged a bobby pin and an awkward metal tool into the lock. The door swung open, the moonlight stretching their shadows into the cool blue void of a living room.

Elektra cupped a hand to his ear, whispering instructions as if they were some guarded secret, before taking a step away. "The game starts now." She stated aloud, before silently slinking away into the sea of black.

a/n: brief but wordy?  
He rolled his eyes, finding an unfurnished bedroom, its periwinkle wallpaper full of flowers upon flowers in mint condition. He shrugged off his suit in the nippy, private darkness, slipping into more comfortable clothes that conveniently hung in an almost empty closet.

He stood in the middle of a dining room, listening closely, swiping up a kitchen knife from the table behind him. He wondered where she went this time, thinking about how she could sneak so well in a pair of heels. In the reflection of a framed painting, he could see her, attempting to creep up behind him with her sai in hand.

Games. Games.

a/n: maybe brief elaboration on elektras prowess!!  
All she ever wanted to do was best him in combat, as if Fisk's favoritism on top of his self-loathing wasn't enough for him already.

a/n: review action fighty scenes asap. sounds clunky at times.  
He turned around, pitching the knife at her. She dodged it by an inch, hurtling towards him with her sai in their holsters, grabbing his corduroy collar with both hands before sending him into an antique cabinet full of porcelain. The force sent glass flying everywhere, the pretty china toppling through the doors. He recovered, using the same move on her, except her back met the wall. He hurled two knives at just the right moment, her dress flowing in the air.  
a/n: wordy?  
He slammed her throat against the wall with his right hand, the two smaller knives pinning her darling dress to the vintage floral design behind her. She made a sound between a whimper and a groan, glancing at the ground below them, fragments of glass littering the floor; they glinted like diamonds as he took a step closer to her. His thumb grazed where her jaw connected to her ear, freezing palm crushing her windpipe, the rest of his fingers delving into her skin.

This wasn't sexy, wasn't supposed to be sexy. All rancor and acid, different from the way Matt grasped her throat. Dex glowered at her, and if looks could kill she certainly would’ve been dead by now. All the same, she liked it. A strip of soft, black fabric and diamonds decorated her neck, barely covering a faded scar on its left side. The long, gold tassels of her earrings draped over his fingers, shimmering under the moon's gray light.

"Wanna try that on me again? Let go of the sai." He said, looking down at her. His other hand squeezed her wrist, moving aside the bangles and jewels that adorned it.

She seemed calm, but breathed heavily, a flicker of anger showing through the twitch of a brow. How did she let herself lose that easily? Pathetic. All by some guy who specialized in throwing things.

"Make me." She hissed through his grip.

She suddenly lifted her leg up, kicking him in the stomach with such force that he had to let go, stumbling into the dining table behind him. The remaining plates and cutlery clinked together, the table made a sickening screech as it moved against the floor. The broken wine glasses crunched below his shoes as Elektra ripped the knives off her dress, clattering, adding more chaos to the cacophony. Before she lurched at him, he grabbed a shard of a dinner plate, but she knocked it out of his hand, sending it skittering across the hardwood.

She secured the sleeves of his denim jacket to the table with her sai in a swift movement, a satisfying thunk as she drove their blunt tips through the wood. Although her frame was small, she was able to loom over him with his back on the table. She examined his face, her nails running along the edge of his jaw.

Brown eyes, full of muddy water and uncertainty, delving back into hers, searching for a motive, something as to why she'd been so touchy-feely lately.

She placed her hands around his neck, though gingerly, lightly. She bit her lip, eyes narrowed as she moved her hands down to his collarbones. Elektra leaned closer, her body practically parallel to his, her mouth hovering over his ear.

Her voice was just above a whisper, wraith-like.

"You have such a pretty face. It would be such a shame if someone were to..." She paused, immediately digging her nails into his skin. He exhaled as they pushed into him, almost shivering as her words reached him.

"...fuck it up." She straightened herself up, ninety degrees to the table, domineering and conceited. She lifted her nails up.

"Have you said that to Red yet? Or were you saving that line for me?" Dex asked liltingly. Her expression soured at the mention of his name, the man beneath her trying to wriggle out of his jacket. “Oh, Elektra, I find it really funny how you think you're the one in control." He was flippant, dismissive, a sly smile on his face.

She squinted at him, her eyes dark, despite the bright light above them. Elektra shifted her hands to his broad shoulders instead, trying to force him down. He managed to slip his arms out of his sleeves despite her efforts, but he didn't get up and throw her to the ground. They hesitated to make a move, unable to jump at the chance of ending the other’s life. Oh, how easy it would end their feud, and make amends after death. Elektra considered jamming her thumbs into his eyes, wondering if he would still have a precise aim despite being blind, much like the Devil.

Instead of slashing her throat, Dex lifted a hand to her neck again, slowly this time, inserting his middle finger underneath her thin, black choker, pulling it down towards him. It was unyielding, not stretchy at all, encouraging her to move with him. She didn't resist, her body neutral-- she didn't eagerly move forward, yet she didn't pull back either.

Elektra's eyes were closed, but not shut, relaxed; she was waiting for something to happen. Her eyelids sparkled like rubies, her black eyeliner thick and sharp. She was close enough that he could taste the hundred-dollar wine off her soft breath, sweet and warm, melding with whatever cloyingly fragrant perfume she used earlier that night. His other hand made its way to her mouth, thumb brushing over her bottom lip, feeling like the velvet of her choker. Her split lip had healed since the last time they met, no longer purple and puffy. He pressed it firmly, and she cringed; the pain was still there.

He wanted to smear the cerise tint off her mouth, ruining just a small piece of her perfection. But he didn't, pulling his hand away instead.

a/n: remove the dumb ass tongue part. sounds awkward and not sexy at All. :/  
"Are you trying to play nice, Ben?" She teased with a smile, feeling his pulse underneath her fingertips, a heartbeat strong and fast. Her fingers pressed into his jugular veins. Her eyelids were half closed, as if she were already excited. She opened her mouth slightly, letting the tip of her tongue sneak out, licking his bottom lip. She tried to pull back, but he tugged on her necklace, keeping her close.

"You said you wanted to play games." He justified.

a/n: reintroduce the knife play in a different way...?  
He lifted himself up slightly, so that he could rest on his elbows. He ran the knife up the side of her thigh, following through the slit in her dress, its point barely piercing her. It was ice cold compared to her hot skin and her breath hitched. He paused, seeing her back arch and shrink. The blade inched up beneath the red fabric, and he began to saw through it, the point moving back and forth, leaving long, pink lines behind.

“What are you going to do with that big knife? Going to stab me? Better make it count. Better make it hurt,” She taunted, dropping to a whisper. “Better kill me in one slash.”

She suddenly placed a hand on his wrist, surprising him as she pressed the knife deeper; it wasn't enough to draw blood, but it made the marks more saturated, redder, earning a few sighs from her. The dress ripped quietly, the designer stitching snapping every other second.

"I take that Red's never done this with you. Too much of a choir boy to go past chokin' the life out of you, huh?"

"You can't even bother to unzip my dress?" She complained, dodging his question. She really didn't want to think about Matt right now.

"Just buy another one, rich girl." He jerked the knife upward, immediately cutting 3 inches closer to her waist.

She gave a short moan, moving her hands underneath his black shirt, lifting the ribbed fabric up as she sank her claws in, slowly raking them down. He grimaced, feeling the long scratches sting as she panted into his ear, her thighs slightly spread, pressing against the sides of his legs, getting warmer by the second. His chest rose and fell quickly underneath her, his skin heating up at her touch, her movement. With his other hand, he reached behind her head, grabbing and twisting her dark hair into a knot. She made another painful sound, before biting it back and stifling it.

He yanked her back, commanding her to get up. She could barely look at him before he shoved her head into the table, moving her hair aside. He took the knife, pointing it between her bare shoulder blades, before pushing down and cutting her dress in half with ease, revealing the back of her black bra. He stopped the cut right below the small of her back. By lightly dragging the steel across her skin, he created pink spirals and circles and scribbles all over her back.

"Harder," She growled, bunching up the tablecloth into her trembling hands. She wanted to jump up and claw at him and shred his face and chest and back and she was absolutely losing it, curling and flexing her fingers onto, into the white fabric. "If you're going to tease me, you better make it a moment worth savoring.” He scoffed. Sure, why the hell not?

He pointed the knife downward in the middle of her back again, pressing it slightly.

"Are you ready?" He asked quietly, breath on the back of her neck.

"Yes."

a/n: sounds double shitty and edgy. revise. rewrite the knife scene COMPLETELY. Dead Fucking Ass.  
Steadily, silently, he began to slash along the length of her spine, leaving crimson in its wake. She got louder, however, she wasn't exactly screaming or wailing, her voice at a steady tone. His mouth twitched, fighting the urge to grin at her suffering. She was small, but powerful, a formidable opponent for an execution, but she was in a compromising situation, unfair.

He thought it was amusing that she liked this, the ever-sadistic Elektra turning into someone who relished in her own misery.

"You're sick, Poindexter." She breathed, the gash in her back burning like hell. It felt good, in a strange way, euphoric even.

a/n: sounds shitty/could be better. revise.  
"I'm sick?" He put a finger in the middle of the cut, pressing deep into it. She was writhing at his touch, grinding her hips against the table, groaning through gritted teeth. "You like it when it hurts, because it has been so easy for you to dominate and destroy whatever steps into your path, stabbing and crushing her way to the top. You want to get destroyed. You like to be in agony for your own pleasure. Yeah, Elektra, I'm the one fucked in the head."

He wanted to break her.

"What, are you gonna put me in my place?" Her tone smug, despite being in pain, and he could see the hint of a smile on her turned face. "It takes a lot to truly hurt me."

"Maybe," He answered, laughing bitterly. He retracted his hand, his fingertip covered in her blood. "Are you asking for it?"

"Thought I made it obvious. Would you like me to beg instead?” She answered sarcastically.

??? Scenes I Have Yet To Implement and Assimilate Into The """Plot"""/Story LMFAO ???

>

His middle finger paused right before her. She was hot, and she was waiting, but she couldn't stop waiting. When he pushed the thin fabric between her flesh and his fingers she exhaled sharply, and he felt just how wet she was.

~~~

a/n: don't overdo the dumbass sex talk you idiot. people may be horny and blind whilst being horby but that doesn't remove tastefulness from the equation. revise asap.  
"Do you think he can hear us right now?" Dex asked, Elektra crushing her legs together for some friction as he brought his fingers to his lips. "He's probably perched on a building a mile or two away, listening to your heartbeat race with every plunge. Do you think he can smell you? Catching your scent, your perfume, and follow us here?" He looked at her, awaiting an answer, as he languidly licked her sweet slick from his fingertips.

"I hope he does find us, and wishes he were here instead of you." Her words were biting, turning him into some tool for jealousy; all he was good for, apparently.

~~~

a/n: in retrospec, sounds a little bit forced/awkward  
When she tilted her head up to kiss him, he grabbed her jaw and twisted her face away. "No," he began, as she continued grinding herself helplessly against air. "What this is isn't love. This is crude hatred; you don't kiss someone you hate." It was as if he had recited it before a thousand times or hammered into his head. He let go, placing the hand on her hip.

"That's what makes it interesting." She reasoned. "It's what solidifies the hate, a way in which humans express themselves intimately; it is a heart-to-heart and," She broke her sentence with a pant. "Your-- our disgust, envy, translates into this," She glided her fingertip over his lips, wondering what she tasted like. "It is physical. It is raw. And sometimes touch and intimacy is just... where you can release it. Other than violence, that is, but who is to say we are not capable of blending both?"

~~~

"Don't you feel it? Don't you want to break me? Crush me and dominate me as you said I once did?" She sounded venomous, pushing him to fucking do something already. She wanted more. "Prove it." She looked almost manic.

"Poor Elektra, suffering from her daddy issues, and mommy ones, I guess. Raised with a pack of wolves from the very beginning."

a/n: mom/dad issues discussed sound forced and awkward. must revise.  
"I could say the same for you, Benjamin. Your father wasn't there for you, more so your brother, if he even existed. Then they died." She said nonchalantly. "Do you see something in me? Do you want to become me? Wish you were like me, able to overcome your own personal problems and emerge as something stronger? I didn't need a family, did not need love. I'd always been carnivorous until I met Matt."

"That's what separates you from me. I don't have anyone. I don't _have_ a Matt. I _can't_ have anyone. The person I cherish the most is always dangling in front of me like collateral, just beyond my reach."

He pressed his lips against her ear, voice husky and grating, "So call me predatory as well, or whatever fits your metaphor, but I just _really_ want to tear your throat out right now."


End file.
